


Domestic Bliss

by MykEsprit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Community: hp_crossgenfest, Cross-Generation Relationship, Desk Sex, F/M, Infidelity, Minor Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, POV Outsider, Pensieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: In the privacy of his study, Remus and Hermione were caught up in their lust.





	Domestic Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta, who shall remain anonymous for now, as well as to the moderator of this fest. Thanks for your hard work!

“Remus,” Hermione moaned, her cheek pressed on the surface of the desk. Her breaths came out in puffs, steaming up the cool, shiny surface of the wooden desk.

Behind Hermione, _her husband_ panted. “Hermione,” he growled, punctuated by a grunt as he slammed into her again. His fingers clutched at the gray wool skirt bunched around her hips and yanked her to meet his thrusts.

Hermione’s skin, damp from sweat, squeaked and squealed against the veneered surface in a quick, hard rhythm, interspersed by the jarring of the desk at each thrust and peppered by sounds of pleasure.

_Squeal-thump-grunt. Squeak-thud-moan._

“Yes,” Hermione hissed. 

The sound drove Remus wild—his cheeks hollowed as he bit the insides of his mouth, a sure sign that he was going out of his mind with desire. He drove into her, and Hermione’s whimpers escalated.

Remus grabbed her waist and flipped her over, setting her on the ledge in one smooth movement. He took her blouse—with its pearl buttons undone to her waist—and shoved it down her shoulders. It trapped her arms at her sides. With one hand, he gripped the fabric at her back and twisted until her arms were braced behind her, jutting her lace-clad breasts upward. His ravenous gaze devoured the sight.

He tore the blouse off her, freeing her from her bonds. She planted her elbows on the desk as he leaned her back. While his eyes glazed with violent lust—made all the more dangerous by the nature of their coupling—his lips were reverent. They hovered above the bounding pulse at her neck before pressing against her skin. He kissed down her décolletage, nipping and licking and making her cry out in bliss.

He caught the edge of her bra with his teeth and wrenched it over the peak of her breast. He lapped his wide tongue over the pert nipple before wrapping his lips around the dusk rose skin. 

His left hand curved around the mound of her other breast, tweaking and pinching its sensitive tip. His other hand was placed between her shoulder blades, supporting her frame as she writhed from his ministrations.

“Remus,” she breathed. Her russet eyes were large and pleading—her hunger urgent. She enveloped him with her long legs and dug her heels into the flesh of his arse, bringing him flush against her.

With a nod and a pant, Remus entered her again. His pace was slow, at first—his eyes squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. A guttural moan escaped his chest.

Whether from the sensation of their joining or the sound of Remus’ pleasure—intoxicating in its own way, she knew—Hermione arched her spine. The back of her head knocked against the wooden surface, but her fingers burrowed into the bundled muscles of Remus’ arms, a silent demand to keep going.

They raced each other to the finish line—he, pumping back and forth against the hard edge of the desk, and she, exerting her legs to urge him faster and faster. 

“Oh, oh…Remus!” she screamed, her back curving into a perfect bow. 

With a shudder, he drove into her one final time, growling Hermione’s name into her chestnut curls. As her gasps subsided, he buried his face against the crook of her neck.

They remained motionless on the desk, their breaths calming to a quiet rhythm. Remus turned his head, catching Hermione’s lips in a slow, tender kiss before straightening up. Hermione sat, buttoning her blouse and smoothing down her skirt. 

With a few flicks of their wands, all evidence of their activity was gone—their clothes no longer rumpled, the stacks of students’ papers back in a neat pile on the desk, and the air in the private study relieved of the heavy scent of sweat and sex.

And, just in time, too.

The Floo echoed through the house, and Hermione and Remus had only enough time to share a guilt-ridden glance before the door burst open. Teddy skipped inside, excited to find Hermione already there.

She saw herself—her memory-self—walk in after the young boy. 

There was a yank at her navel—a flurry of images—a warbling of sounds—and then she was on her feet, staring at the reflective surface of Remus’ Pensieve. The single memory had ended, tossing her out to reality—one where her marriage had been broken long before she realized. 

As she fought to keep her balance, the feeling in her belly refused to go away—as if some invisible hand threatened to wrestle and wrench her soul out through her abdomen. A part of her wanted that hand to win.

The patter in the kitchen strengthened her resolve. With unsteady hands, she placed the Pensieve back on the top shelf of their wardrobe. It clinked against dozens of other vials hidden behind a stack of moth-eaten jumpers Remus had refused to throw away. She harped on him for months to get rid of those clothes, never suspecting the means to destroy her world concealed inside such innocuous garments. 

With a fortifying breath, she opened the door and walked to the kitchen. 

“Mummy!” Teddy jumped on her legs as soon she was within leaping distance. He wrapped his arms around her knees, his bell-like laughter ringing throughout the room. “Mummy, look who came with me and Daddy to the zoo! It’s Hermione, Mummy!”

Hermione leaned against the sink, hands folded behind her back as a small smile graced her pretty features. “Hi, Tonks.”

“Hi.” Her heart squeezed as she choked out the syllable.

On the opposite side of the kitchen, Remus cleared his throat. “We ran into Hermione in Muggle London, of all places!” he explained as he approached his wife and son. “So we invited her along.”

Tonks pressed her lips together. She didn’t trust herself to open her mouth for fear of harsh words spilling out—or, much worse, a gut-wrenching sob. She wouldn’t let either escape her lips just now, not with Teddy smiling and laughing and hugging her legs.

“Can Hermione stay for dinner, Mummy?” Teddy asked. “I told her she could stay. I told her Daddy’s making my favoritest food tonight, and she will love it, too!”

Hermione glanced at her with a slight shrug and an apologetic smile. 

The muscles of Tonks’ face froze as she contemplated how to respond to such a request. In the end, she didn’t need to say anything.

“I’ll warm up the stove,” Remus said. He closed the short distance between them. He bent his head to give his wife a kiss. His lips aimed for hers, but—at the last second—veered to the side, landing on her cheek with a soft smack. He leaned down and rubbed Teddy’s hair. “Why don’t you and your Mum go upstairs so she can help you wash up, while Hermione and I start dinner?”

With a squeal of delight, Teddy grabbed Tonks’ hand and tugged, eager to tell his mum all the exciting things that happened to him that day. 

As Tonks trailed after her son, the kitchen cupboards squeaked open and slammed shut, pots and pans banged on the stove, and soft murmurs and laughter followed her in a mocking echo of domestic bliss.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the 2018 Harry Potter Cross Gen Fest. The author will be revealed on August 31.


End file.
